


Those Left Behind

by 1917farmgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV), Road to Avonlea, The Young Riders
Genre: Gen, War, fathers and sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 07:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1917farmgirl/pseuds/1917farmgirl
Summary: “In peace, sons bury their fathers.  In war, fathers bury their sons.”- HerodotusIn honor of Memorial Day.





	Those Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [looneylizzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneylizzie/gifts).



**Author’s Note** :  
The characters used in this story are from the television shows “Road to Avonlea,” “Merlin,” and “The Young Riders” as well as from the “Harry Potter” books by JK Rowling. They are the property of their respective owners and I am just borrowing the characters for this little tale.

I intend this not to be so much a crossover as it is a look at one subject across several different fandoms. I hope there are a few of you out there who understand what I was trying to convey.

*****

_This story is dedicated to my great-grandfather who had eight sons and selflessly watched five of them go off to war, including his twin boys._

_And to my granddad, one of those twins, who bravely fought for something he believed in. May we never forget the sacrifice of millions the world over who have done the same._

 

**THOSE LEFT BEHIND**

_“Everything is going to change now isn't it?”_  
\- Hermione, “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” (Film - 2005)

*****

Alec King stepped out into the cool morning air, yawing as he quietly closed the screen door behind him. On the side of the porch, Digger cracked open half an eye and twitched his tail in greeting, but otherwise the dog didn’t move an inch.

“Yeah, me too, Digger,” Alec said with another yawn as he gave the graying golden retriever an affectionate scratch behind the ears. They were all tired after the events of yesterday. In typical King fashion, they couldn’t even pull off a wedding without a mini-crisis. That was all over now, however, and normal life went on, including chores. 

Despite his fatigue, he couldn’t help but notice his surroundings. It was a stunningly beautiful morning and he walked slowly toward the barn, enjoying the sights and sounds of the farm, his mind and heart full.

Oh, how he loved this land! These woods and fields, the house and barn – this was his world. His boyhood adventures, his wedding day, the birth of his children…his whole life was wrapped up in the green fields and red sands of this place, of Avonlea. Now he could add the marriage of his own daughter to that list. Five generations of Kings had lived on and worked and loved this land.

He rounded the garden and stopped at the chicken coop, smiling at the greeting the hens gave him. He quickly scattered a bit of grain, ignoring the twinge in his back probably brought on by setting up and taking down tables and chairs yesterday. It was another reminder that he wasn’t as young as he used to be. In his mind, he’d always envisioned that he would have begun turning over the workings of the farm to Felix by this point in his life. Funny how life never goes according to plan…

The tight ache in his chest that had been there since yesterday morning returned as he thought of his son. When Felix had stepped out of the house in that uniform he’d never been more proud of him. His stubborn, headstrong, playful little boy had grown up, become a man, almost without him noticing.

But with that pride came a great sense of dread as well. Joining the Corps wasn’t a casual decision these days; Canada was heading for a war. “The Great War” they were calling it, or “The War to End All Wars.” Alec shook his head. Seemed rather foolish, trying to end war by fighting one. He was as patriotic as they came, proud of his land and country and he felt strongly about the need to defend the Empire, fight for civilization and freedom. Had he been called upon to do so, he would gladly have laid down his life for his family and this land that he loved so much, but this was a new time and a new, strange war. A time when they shipped rosy-faced farm boys around the world to fight in wars they hardly knew anything about. Young men were leaving the island in droves, lured by the promise of grand adventure, excitement, and heroism, but what did they really know about war? What did any of them, living safe and secure on Prince Edward Island for generations, know about war? And now Felix would be swept up into the middle of it. The realities of that had yet to dawn on his adventure-seeking son and wouldn’t until he was actually there, buried in it, and then it would be too late. Alec was just a simple farmer, born and bred on the same small island that he’d only rarely left, but even he knew that the Felix who returned from this war would not be the same carefree and excited boy who left for it.

If he returned at all…

Heart seizing up, Alec pushed such thoughts aside and entered the barn, gathering a forkful of hay on his way. He rounded the corner only to find Maggie and Athena already in their stalls, chewing contentedly. A tousled head of dark brown hair looked up from the milking to greet him.

“Morning, Father,” said Felix, grinning.

Shaking his head, Alec leaned on the pitchfork. “Nineteen years of dragging you out of bed for chores,” he said with a smile, “and now that you’re leaving you figure out how to do it on your own?”

Felix just grinned again and stood up, bringing two brimming buckets of foamy, warm milk with him. “You had a busy day yesterday, giving away Felicity and all. I thought you deserved a break.”

“Thanks, son,” said Alec. Felix simply nodded, still smiling. The cows had been eyeing the hay he brought in pointedly, as if daring him to withhold it now they’d seen it. Being the old softy that he was, he lifted it into the manger anyway as a treat and then picked up the last bucket of milk. Together father and son took the buckets to the milk cans. Neither spoke as they strained the liquid carefully into the large containers, saving an inch or two in one of the buckets to mix with the oats for the pigs. It was a warm, comfortable silence between them and once again Alec marveled at the confident, kind young man his son had become. 

They’d fed the pigs and were mucking out the stalls before Felix finally broke the quiet. “It was wonderful to see Felicity so happy again,” he said, picking up where they’d left off in their earlier conversation. “It was like someone miraculously brought my sister back.”

Alec smiled at his son’s comments. The months following news of Gus’ “death” that Felicity had spent like a virtual ghost had been hard on more than just her. Despite the almost constant teasing and bickering between the two while growing up, he knew there was a deep love there as well. “She was Felicity again, all right,” he agreed, unable to stifle a chuckle as he thought of Felicity running out of her own wedding to drag back an aunt just as stubborn as she was.

“Poor Gus,” Felix added. “I tried to warn him what he was getting into, but…”

“Oh, I think Gus knows exactly what he’s getting into,” Alec said with a laugh, putting the last of the soiled straw on the cart and leaning on the pitchfork once more, facing Felix. “He’s known that since the first day he met her.”

“Are all women that stubborn and scary, Father, or just the ones in our family?”

“All of them, Felix. All,” he said in a stage whisper. “Even the Pettibone ones, I believe,” he added with a wink before setting the pitchfork aside and walking back out into the beautiful, clear morning, smiling to himself at the blush he watched creep up his son’s face. He’d had a feeling for some time that one day in the near future there would be another wedding at this farm, one featuring Felix and a certain Miss Isolde Pettibone. Which just showed that he really was getting old.

Shaking his head, he started up the path but a voice from behind stopped him.

“Father?”

He turned to find Felix leaning in the doorway of the barn. “Can you wait a moment? I…I need to talk to you.”

The playfulness of just before was gone.

“What is it, son?” Alec asked, walking back to stand next to his boy. 

“I wanted to…to thank you for supporting my decision to join up. For signing the papers.”

“You’re a man now, Felix. It may not be the future I’d always hoped and planed for you, but I respect your decision and your right to make it.”

“Thank you, Father,” said Felix, a traitorous catch in his voice as he spoke.

Smiling proudly, Alec reached out and grasped Felix’s shoulder, squeezing gently as he fought the swelling in his own throat and the moisture that seemed to want to gather in his eyes. Felix gave him a watery smile in return.

“I want you to know something else, Father,” he said softly. “I didn’t make this decision lightly. I know what I might be getting into and I’ve thought about it for a long time. Even talked to Gus about it, what it would be like, what I might be facing.”

“Did you talk to Izzy about it?” Alec interrupted gently.

“Yes. She…she said she’d wait for me.” Felix blushed again and looked at the ground. 

“Then I think you’ve more than covered every step, although a word or two to your mother might have been wise.”

Felix grinned sheepishly. “Would _you_ have asked her before doing something like this?”

“Ahh, um…” Alec stammered, running a hand across his forehead. “I see your point, son.”

They laughed conspiratorially, both throwing nervous glances back at the house as they did. Then Felix continued.

“I just…I need you to know this. I’m scared and nervous, but I still know this is what I need to do.”

“Felix,” Alec said slowly, turning away from his son to stare once more at the green and golden fields of his home. “I don’t say this nearly enough, but I need you to hear it now. You’re a fine boy who’s grown into a fine young man. You’re talented and smart and honest and I will support you in whatever you decide you want to do.” His voice caught again but he pushed on anyway, finishing in a rather broken tone. “I’m proud of you, son. So very proud of you. I want you to know that.” He reached out and pulled Felix into a back-pounding embrace, one that Felix returned. They stayed that way for several minutes before breaking apart and carefully not wiping at brimming eyes. “Now, I think we should head on back to the house before some of those women you mentioned decide to check on us and find us out here blubbering in the yard like fools.”

Felix’s grin broke through again and he nodded, turning to lead the way up the path. As he fell in step behind his son, Alec couldn’t help turning his eyes to the sky and sending up a desperate prayer for his son to be kept safe in whatever lay ahead.

*****

_“Nobody knows what a boy is worth; We’ll have to wait and see._  
But every man in a noble place, A boy once used to be.”  
\- Unknown 

*****

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

The words slipped softly from his son’s lips as he was still enveloped in Molly’s overpowering hug, and Arthur Weasley couldn’t stop the sudden burst of feeling that welled up in him. It was enough to mist his own eyes over, and he found himself blinking desperately, fighting back the tears. 

Percy had said that to him. Percy, who’s calloused words had hurt more than anything because they tore a hole right through his heart like no weapon or spell ever could. Percy, his prodigal son, had come home.

Straining to hold it together, he pushed forward and pulled his son into a bone-crushing hug, feeling hurt and resentment melt away like snow under the spring sun. Only when George started speaking again did he finally release his third son, and that’s when it hit him. Another wave of emotion rolled over him, just as strong as the first, but this time instead of joy it was pure fear.

It was starting. What he’d known for a long time was coming: war. He’d been prepared for this for ages; that’s not what sent shivers of terror up his spine. No, it was looking around him that did that. His sons were about to go into battle. All of them, even the one he’d adopted over the years. 

He was about to send his children into a war. 

They were his little boys! He’d held them, rocked them, taught them to play catch and ride their first broomstick. They should be home – safe – not here ready to face the brutality and ugliness of a mad man and his army who found pleasure in destroying what was good.

And yet there they were, standing tall around him, boys all grown into men. He was their father so he could see the fear in their eyes, but no one else would know it with their faces calm and proud. 

There was Bill, already battle scarred, holding hands with his new wife with a fierce desperation, both ready to defend their world.

Charlie’s face was missing, but he knew his children. His second son with his hearty laugh and work-hardened hands was on his way, he had no doubt.

Percy, returned to the fold, determined to atone for the past.

George the planner and Fred the action-man. His happy, carefree, brilliant twins who lived to bring others joy, ready to fight with fierce loyalty.

His little Ron, standing next to Harry, neither one so little anymore. Both boys had already seen so much more than boys should, despite his efforts to protect them. Now Ron waited with his two best friends, and Arthur could see the terrible weight of shared secrets that burdened them. It broke his heart, but it was the look in their eyes that terrified him, one of resigned acceptance. They had some sort of mission to complete tonight and he knew all three were willing to die to see it through. Their world’s survival hung on the actions of children. It was wrong, so very wrong, but as much as he wished he could do it in their stead he learned long ago life didn’t always play fair.

He’d been barely aware of the conversation going on around him, lost in his thoughts as he was, but he keyed back in as Ginny tried once again to sneak out to join them. His baby girl, grown into a strong, wildly independent young woman, but only sixteen! He couldn’t protect his sons but he could at least keep his daughter safe. That’s why he jumped at Lupin’s suggested compromise that she remain in the room. She pouted and protested, but he held firm.

Moments later, as he left the Room of Requirement with the rest of the Order, Arthur felt Molly’s hand slip quietly into his. He turned to face her – his dear, wonderful wife. She was his best friend, the love of his life, the mother of his children. Together they shared a look, one that needed no words.

_Please_ , it said. _Please see our family through this night, and if a price must be paid, let it be one of us that pays it._

*****

_“Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war…”  
\- Shakespeare_

*****

The moment Cody rode up in that uniform Teaspoon Hunter knew it was starting. This war that had been hovering over them, threatening to tear their fragile little family apart had finally come.

War fever gripped Rock Creek like a disease and his “boys” weren’t immune. It burned through them like a wildfire, turning brother against brother and making enemies of men who had once defended each other with their lives.

The grizzled Marshal felt none of the fire, however. Instead it left his heart heavy and cold. He’d fought his wars already, watched the flurry of excitement drain from the eyes of young men to be replaced with the stark reality of the horror of what war was. Cries of “Remember the Alamo!” rang through the streets to spur youngsters to action, but old men like him who did remember – all too vividly – weren’t so quick to jump back into the fray. With all his heart he’d wished he could protect these young men – and Lou – who he’d come to love as his own from such knowledge. But at the same time he’d somehow always known he couldn’t. They were swept up in turbulent times beyond anyone’s control.

And so he watched them go, one by one.

Noah left first, caught in the crossfire of an argument he didn’t ask for, then left behind in a shallow prairie grave because he tried to do what was right.

Jesse was next, pulled off by his brother Frank and fanned into a fervor for a cause Teaspoon knew the kid really didn’t understand. He was heading down the path to trouble and ruin. The Marshall feared the news he’d one day hear about Jesse James.

Cody’s departure was expected, but that didn’t make it any less painful. The boy had joined the army as a scout, the deed was done, and his life was at their mercy now. Teaspoon stood with Rachel and watched him ride away, head held high with pride all while knowing the turmoil and guilt the boy carried with him under the surface. Noah’s death, accident that it was, hung around his neck like a millstone, and Teaspoon desperately hoped he wouldn’t feel the need to play the martyr to atone for it.

Jimmy, ever his most troubled “son,” crept off in the middle of the night, fueled by demons he felt no one could understand and a sense of duty he didn’t even comprehend. The abolitionist cause and a pretty face pulled him like a moth to the flame. Now he was out there, lost in the vast Union army, far beyond his help or guidance. Teaspoon just prayed the few bits of wisdom he’d offered would somehow see the troubled, young gunfighter through to a better future.

Kid tried to stay. He loved Lou with all his heart and really wanted to be a good, devoted husband. They bought a ranch, settled down, made plans for a family. But they all saw his eyes drift to the east every time war news trickled in. Finally, he couldn’t deny who he was anymore. The pull of his homeland was too strong and he couldn’t leave it to be broken and trampled. For him it wasn’t about slavery or causes or politics. It was much simpler: he needed to defend his home. It’s what made him the man he was.

And so Teaspoon stood once again on the porch, holding a stoic Lou in his arms, and watched as another of his boys rode off to war, this time in the grey uniform of the Confederacy.

Finally, it was just Rachel and him keeping watch over two: Lou who faded more each day from fear, her growing belly the only thing that stopped her from donning trousers and following her husband, and Buck, who felt no pull toward the white man’s wars but still struggled to know exactly where he belonged. Together they waited and worried, haunted by the ghosts of Noah and Ike and fearing for the souls of the rest.

Every day that went by without news, Teaspoon prayed they were safe, prayed to a God he hoped he still believed in to keep them from harm, to bring them home. But more than that, he prayed there never came a time his boys had to stare across a battle field and take aim at one another.

*****

_“I wonder how you say goodbye to someone forever?”  
\- Ann M. Martin_

*****

Gaius knew the moment the king died. He felt it, deep in his weary soul. The entire kingdom did, even if they didn’t yet know what or why. It was as if all of Camelot paused for a moment in a collective gasp of disbelief and sorrow before life fell back into place and moved on. Surrounded by people in the busy market place, the old physician ducked his head and worked to hide his emotions as he crept back to his rooms.

The next morning, he went to Gwen. She was sitting at the window in her chambers, spinning Arthur’s ring distractedly. No words were needed as he approached her. She’d felt it, too, knew her beloved king and love was gone. Her fingers trembled as she closed them around the precious ring, her head bowing slightly as she fought the tears, the all-consuming grief threatening to crush her. But then she straightened and composed herself, the regal queen usurping the heart-broken wife because there was no other choice.

Still, she waited almost a week for the formal announcement and ceremony, unable to give up hope for a miracle even though she knew in her heart that hope had passed.

Gaius understood. Better than anyone. Because it took him two weeks to stop preparing the same, oft-loved meal each night, waiting and hoping for a young man he loved with all his old heart to come through the door.

It was a full three months before he stacked the second set of dishes away on the shelf while he wiped at his eyes.

The queen came to him in the evenings sometimes, to sit, where she could be simply Gwen – the servant girl who lost her dearest love and missed her best friend. They drew comfort from each other, two souls hurting in a way no one else could comprehend. 

Sometimes, they sat in silence.

Sometimes they talked. 

Talked of peace. Talked of the kingdom Gwen was trying to build in honor of Arthur and Merlin, in the hope that no one else ever need sit alone like them, know the pain of waiting for loved ones lost. She dreamt that the child growing inside her could reign over a kingdom that only remembered peace and not war.

When a year had passed, Gaius finally straightened Merlin’s room. He folded the clothes and blankets, tucked them in the cupboard. Gwen claimed one of the tattered scarves, and if Gaius himself kept a scrap of telling red stuffed in his pocket for the remainder of his days, no one ever commented on its presence. 

He dusted the trinkets, baubles, and knickknacks that had collected over the years on the desk and windowsill – silent tribute to the goodness of his boy’s soul. The most powerful man alive, yet he found joy in a small bit of colored glass that caught the light just so. 

That was Merlin. 

In the corner of the small room, where the glow of evening could touch it, he kept the tiny, wooden dragon, the dusty, old magic book, and leaning against the wall, the intricate Sihde staff. Often, at the end of his workdays, he sat on the long-cold bed and looked and remembered.

His boy never came home.

And though the ache and hole in his heart threatened to swallow him completely, he understood. Merlin and Arthur – servant and king – brothers – two sides of the same coin. From the moment they first met their lives and hearts and destinies were entwined. Two halves of a whole.

How could a coin exist with only one side?

How could just one half of something go on?

How could Merlin return to a Camelot without an Arthur in it anymore?

But sometimes, in the first tepid light of morning before he was completely awake, Gaius thought he felt a strange sense of being watched over, protected – of over-abiding care and love. On those mornings, he opened his eyes very slowly, cherishing.

And together Gwen and he, with the remaining knights and the new little prince who toddled everywhere, worked to build a peace of which his two boys would be proud. In the name of Arthur, the Once and Future King that he’d watched grow from birth. And Merlin, the clumsy warlock, whom he loved as a son.

*****

_“In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons.”  
\- Herodotus_

*****

Teaspoon tried not to fret when the letters stopped coming. He knew, better than most, how unreliable mail service could be in such extreme circumstances. The Kid would write when possible; he was too conscientious to leave them – especially Lou – worrying.

Cody wrote, long epistles that spun his days into a great adventure story, full of heroism and daring deeds, stories that couldn’t quite hide the real horrors the boy purposefully skimmed over. And Jimmy sent a line here or there, which Teaspoon kept and treasured, knowing it would have been so much easier for the young man to not even have bothered.

But months passed with no word from Kid, and the pebble of worry in his gut had grown into a boulder that threatened to squash him flat.

When the rider passed through Rock Creek shouting of cease fires and surrenders, the old marshal felt nothing but cold fear grip him while all around the good citizens of his town celebrated and cheered.

Slowly, the men and boys who had rushed off to fight for one side or the other trickled back, their faces lined and their eyes haunted.

Teaspoon’s boys didn’t come.

Until one day he looked up at the dusty horizon and saw a wagon approaching in the twilight, two tired figures driving the team steadily onward. His heart clenched, both with overwhelming sorrow and all-consuming joy, and he stepped off the porch to meet them.

“Cody. Jimmy,” he breathed, not even bothering to hide the tremble in his voice or the shaking in his hands as he reached out to touch them, make sure they were real. Then he glanced into the wagon, noted the plain, pine box, and pulled his wet eyes away.

“We found him in a Union prison camp,” Cody answered the unasked question.

“He was…he was…” Jimmy trailed off, looking away with both anger and sorrow burning in his eyes, and Teaspoon didn’t need the words he couldn’t utter to know in what condition they had found their “brother.”

“We tried to get him help, get him home, but it was too late,” Cody finished, his head hanging.

Teaspoon wanted to say something to comfort his boys despite his own breaking heart, but he never got the chance. Instead, the air was rent with a soul-piercing scream as Lou rushed from the house and threw herself onto the coffin in the wagon-bed.

Later, as they stood in solemn silence in the barren graveyard laying the Kid in the dry ground next to Noah, Teaspoon found his mind fractured with strange thoughts.

How many Confederate boys were laid to rest with the salute of two Union soldiers in full dress?

How was the toddler squirming in Lou’s trembling arms ever going to know her father?

How long would it be before the coldness he saw lurking in Jimmy’s eyes pushed out the warmth and the light?

How could a war that had ripped them apart hope to save a nation?

How did he get so old so fast?

And weren’t children supposed to bury their parents, not father’s their children? If that were true, how come he had now buried three?

*****

_“Nothing of real worth ever comes completely without pain. You know what though? You always remember the love more than the pain.”  
\- Olivia,  Road to Avonlea_

*****

“Hello, son,” Arthur Weasley spoke the words softly as he ran his fingers over the top of the grey marker. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, focused on the feel of the rough stone beneath his fingers and the peaceful silence all around. A slight breeze rustled the drying leaves and carried on it the tangy scent of wood-smoke in gentle curls. Autumn had arrived in all its splendor.

“Sorry I missed our visit last week,” he spoke again, opening his eyes and conjuring his usual lawn chair. “I’ll make sure Ron tells you all about what happens when you mix volatile potions in your mother’s kitchen next time he visits. It will sound better coming from him and your mother might have allowed him back in the house by then anyway.”

He settled back in the chair, gazing for a moment at the name of his son etched into the stone before swallowing and turning his moist eyes away out over the rolling hills and red and gold trees.

_“No blubbering, Dad.”_ He could almost swear he heard the words float to him, born on the quiet swirl of leaves and wind. 

He smiled.

“Ginny’s settling back into Hogwarts. She’s excited to be in the same year as Hermione. They both send their love. And Charlie just discovered a new sub-breed of dragon everyone had believed was extinct. You’d have thought he was having his first born, the way he spoke of it in the letter.”

Arthur laughed a little, recalling the way Charlie’s handwriting had been even more illegible than usual as he’d rushed to give them his news.

“Did I tell you last week about Mundungus? That he tried to run for mayor of Hogsmead? And how the only one he could get to vote for him was Alberforth’s goat? Ron and Harry laughed for a week straight at that, and George tried to turn it into an epic poem. Oh, and speaking of George…” He dug into the pocket of his jumper. “He asked me to bring this for you. Clipped it from some Muggle newspaper and said you’d get a kick out of these.”

He opened the folded piece of paper and scanned it for a moment before finding what he was after. He cleared his throat.

_“Did you hear about the two people who were imprisoned for stealing a calendar? They each got six months.”_

He waited for a moment, imagining the sound of missing laughter.

_“How do you make a tissue dance? Put a bogey in it._ Oh, and he said to make sure I read you this one, but only if your mum wasn’t here. _How do you make holy water? Boil the hell out of it!”_

Arthur smiled again, a sad, hollow sort of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and refolded the paper before returning it to his pocket. 

“He’ll be okay, Fred,” he said after a while, his voice softer now. “He’ll never stop missing you, but he will be okay. He’s getting there. He smiles now, sometimes almost laughs. Says your name. Soon I think he’ll be able to come and visit you himself. Just…not yet.”

“I’m trying to get there myself, to be honest. Trying to remember the joy, the good times, the laughs and smiles. Trying to somehow smooth a patch over this gaping tear in my heart. I’ll think it’s working and then I’ll find one of your stupid rubber-chicken wands stuffed behind the sofa, or see George out of the corner of my eye and think for just a moment that it’s you, and then the wound rips right in half again and I have to start over.”

He sighed, unable to stop some of the moisture from cresting his eyes this time, and he leaned forward, caressing the letters that spelled out _Frederick Gideon Weasley_ upon the headstone. “I think I’ll be trying for the rest of my life.”

Feeling so very old, Arthur leaned his head against the cold stone and once more closed his eyes. “I love you, Fred. And I miss you.”

And he stayed that way until it was time for him to return home.

*****

_“We have shared the incommunicable experience of war. We have felt, we still feel, the passion of life to its top… In our youths, our hearts were touched with fire.”  
\- Oliver Wendell Holmes_

*****

In the bright moonlight, the freshly fallen snow shown brilliantly, lighting everything to an almost unearthly glow. As if sensing the rare beauty of the night, a strange silence filled the world, like just for a moment time had stopped its relentless march forward and all the earth could just pause and be still. 

It was amazing and wonderful, almost holy, and Alec walked slowly down the path, his mind and heart full even as he gazed around in awe.

Without conscious thought, his feet carried him past the barn and well, beyond the lambing shed and snow-covered garden plot. He skirted the woods and started to climb, drawn on by the moonlight as if beckoned by an invisible hand. Finally, he crested the small hill and he paused.

Laid out before him in the nighttime glow was his whole world; on one side, the silver stretch of a flat, frozen sea - on the other the fields and buildings of his farm, wrapped in a soft blanket of Christmas snow. The house where his wife and _all_ four of his children now slept.

Felix. His soldier. His little boy whom they’d lost, whom they’d said in that bloody telegram note might never be found. 

His son was sleeping safely in that house. After months of anguish and heart-wrenching worry, of doubting if he’d ever see him alive again, his Felix was home. He’d come back across that shimmering ocean, back from the horror of an awful war – not unscathed – but back… _home_.

It was a Christmas miracle he’d never dared hope for, but prayed for with every fiber of his heart just the same.

And now, in the moonlight of a frozen Christmas night, Alec’s mended heart overflowed. The feelings inside finally welled up and gushed out in the form of grateful tears.

Slowly, reverently, he sank to his knees, heedless of the cold snow crunching beneath them. In humility and hope and overwhelming gratitude he raised his face to the sky.

“Thank you,” he breathed, both a release of pain and a prayer at the same time. “Thank you for bringing my son home.”

*****

_“When you go home, tell them of us and say, for their tomorrow, we gave our today.”  
\- John Maxwell Edmonds,  The Kohima Epitaph_

*****

* Lines from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling, chapter 30, pg 606 & 607.


End file.
